


a lesson in love

by liionne



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Homophobic Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have to go." Achilles says, and his hands are on Patroclus' chest, but they aren't pushing. No- he's doing a lot of things, but he's not pushing. He's memorising the feeling of smooth skin beneath his hands, and he's counting the pulse that thuds beneath the right, committing that to memory too. He's feeling the rise and fall of his best friend's chest - best friend, boyfriend, lover, whatever; they all feel like synonyms now - and he's meeting those dark brown eyes with his own. "If my mother catches you here she'll kill you."</p>
<p>"I know." Patroclus murmurs, but he makes no move to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a lesson in love

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is. All I know is that I finished reading _The Song of Achilles_ yesterday and it ruined me. These two goons are ruining my life. Apologies for any spelling mistakes.

"You have to go." Achilles says, and his hands are on Patroclus' chest, but they aren't pushing. No- he's doing a lot of things, but he's not pushing. He's memorising the feeling of smooth skin beneath his hands, and he's counting the pulse that thuds beneath the right, committing that to memory too. He's feeling the rise and fall of his best friend's chest - best friend, boyfriend, lover, whatever; they all feel like synonyms now - and he's meeting those dark brown eyes with his own. "If my mother catches you here she'll kill you."

"I know." Patroclus murmurs, but he makes no move to go.

Sometimes, they get lost in each other. And then it gets hard to remember that they're just kids, one seventeen, the other sixteen, with homework to do and school to go to. It gets hard to remember anything outside of themselves.

It was Achilles' birthday the day before. Patroclus wishes he could say that's why he's there, in his bed, curled around him. But the truth of the matter is that he can't bear to be anywhere else; he lives in a foster home. It's dismal. He much prefers Achilles' bedroom, where even though his mother is winter itself, he is warm and well kept and showered with kisses, and he doesn't have to say a word.

There is a noise from downstairs. The sound of a key in the door. That finally gets the to move.

They throw clothes at each other, grapple for books. Achilles ends up at the desk, shirt and jeans on, but nothing else. Patroclus lies on the floor, textbook open in front of him, and he's still fumbling with his jeans when there's a knock at the bedroom door.

At some point between pulling on clothes, grabbing a book and smoothing out his hair, Achilles has put music on. Good. Seems more natural. He spares Patroclus a glance before he calls, "Come in!"

His mother enters, her heels making no sound on the thick carpet. "I just came up to check on you -and your friend."

Patroclus flushes, and stares resolutely at his book. There's ice in her tone. He instantly feels colder.

"We're fine." Achilles returns coolly. Of course she doesn't scare him. She's his mother. And anyway, there is seemingly nothing that scares Achilles.

His mother gives a single nod, looks down at Patroclus on the floor, and then looks away with disdain. "Good. Dinner will be ready in an hour. I hope your friend isn't staying; I only bought enough for two."

And with that she leaves, closing the door behind her. They can't hear her shoes on the carpet, but they hear them when she hits the wood panel floor at the bottom, the heels clacking as she goes.

Achilles looks down at the book in his hand. Biology. Patroclus is better than he is at biology. He's better at chemistry too. But honestly, there are very, very few things that Patroclus is better at than Achilles.

So maybe he is genuinely trying to figure out what he sees on the page in front of him. Or maybe it's something else. Like perhaps, his mother's obvious disdain for his best friend- or whatever else Patroclus is.

"I should go." Patroclus murmurs, a vague echo of Achilles' words from earlier.

Achilles is chewing his lip. He turns to look at Patroclus, and he nods. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah, I think so."

Patroclus nods. He leans down to press a soft, gentle kiss to Achilles' lips, and then he straightens. He walks him to the front door, and he promises to pick him up in the morning.

When Patroclus goes home, he goes to bed. He's not sure what he's done to offend Achilles mother, but then, she's never liked him. He lies in bed, and he thinks of his skin, and all the places Achilles has touched it. He runs his fingers over his ribs, his stomach, his thighs. He rubs his lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

And little does he know, Achilles does the exact same thing just a few streets away.

~*~

In the morning, of course, Patroclus is ready. By his side, Briseis sits on the wall, and kicks her feet. Her dress catches on the rough brick and she scuffs her shoes as she gets up, when she sees Achilles' car at the top of the street.

She goes to get in the front, and sees a flash of something in Achilles' eyes. Not anger, not frustration, or annoyance, not pleasure, not anticipation- she can't place it.

She sits in the back.

"Hey." Achilles greets them when they're in and the doors are shut.

"Hey." They say in turn, and Patroclus turns to give him a small smile.

What they have is odd. They know exactly what they are to each other. They're best friends and lovers and more. Patroclus is going to marry him one day, he promised himself that a long time ago. But other people are always left confused. There are some who insist they are a couple, and other who say otherwise. They're with each other the majority of the time. They sit near each other in class, and no one tries to argue. They sit together at lunch, with a handful of other people, but always shoulder to shoulder. When Achilles has a football game, it is always Patroclus who meets him off the field. They are usually always shoulder to shoulder, just about to touch. Sometimes Patroclus will catch his hand, or Achilles will throw an arm around his shoulders or his waist, and drag him off somewhere. Often, to the bathroom, because they're good but they're not quite that good. But not a lot of people know that. Briseis maybe, but no one else. It's better that way.

Achilles catches Patroclus' hand as they walk from their lockers to biology, trying to get him to look at him. They don't talk about Achilles' mother very often, but when they do, it always turns Patroclus' stomach to mush and makes his blood run cold. But when Achilles takes his hand, he thaw again, a broad hand capturing his and a thumb brushing his pulse point.

There is a snort of derision from somewhere to Achilles' left as they walk. Patroclus needn't even look up to know who it is. Hector and his gang lean against the lockers, and he smirks as they pass.

"Fags."

It makes Patroclus' stomach drop to his knees, fills him with dread. No one ever say things like that, because no one really knows what they are. He watches Achilles' gaze flick left, looking at Hector out of the corner of his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't stop. Doesn't even turn his head to look at him properly.

Patroclus goes to drop his hand; Achilles holds on tighter.

He only lets go of Patroclus' hand when they get to the class and sit down, and they begin to pull things out of their bags. Achilles doesn't mention it, and so neither does Patroclus. It's as if it never happened.

~*~

Until the next day.

They spend the night in each other's arms, as they do more often than not. Achilles' mother leaves in the early morning; most days they don't even see each other on a morning. He is left to fend for himself. So it's safe for Patroclus to be there, to lie in his arms until it's absolutely necessary that they get up, or they'll be late, and then dress together. That morning in particular they wake early, press closed-mouth kisses to each other's skin, and shower together. It's a strange sort of relationship; it's grown up, mature. Like they've known each other far longer than the seven years they've known each other, far longer than the seventeen years they have been alive. But neither of them question it. Achilles licks a drop of water from Patroclus' shoulder, and he smiles. When they are finally dressed, they head to the kitchen, and Achilles throws a handful of grapes at him so that they can head out the door.

Sometimes, Achilles misses classes. He has music lessons, which his mother is paying for privately, a private tutor sort of thing, and so once every two days he goes off, leaving Patroclus on his own. That's alright. He _is_ a functioning person outside of what he has with Achilles, not that anyone's questioning that. Not at all.

But it's gym. And he knows something is wrong when he is drafted onto Hector's team.

He hangs back, for the majority of the game. No one can catch him. He's like a shadow, a ghost, flitting throughout the team and across the field. He's good, Patroclus must admit that, at least.

At the end of the game, and the end of the lesson, he takes a moment to breathe. He's good at sports, good at running and jumping and throwing, good at tackling and dodging, but he's no match for Achilles. No one is. And as usual, whether Achilles is in his presence or not, his mind skips back to him.

He hears it, just the end of it, like Hector had raised his voice for that one word. "-good for a _fag_." There it is again. He's not an idiot. He knows what it means. He knows the connotations. But he's never heard it directed at him, and he _knows_ that was meant for him. It burns.

He does what Achilles would do: he ignores it.

On the way back to the locker room, there's a hand on his back, slapped there. It makes him want to cough, but he doesn't. He manages to just keep on walking.

"No looking at the other boys in the shower now, Pat."

He doesn't stop. He keeps his head down. He's learned from a life in orphanages and foster homes to just keep his head down, keep to himself. Achilles has taught him not to bite back, but he's not sure he would have anyway.

"I wouldn't." He answers, voice low.

"No," Hector agrees, and there's a hand still pressed right between his shoulder blades. It makes Patroclus' skin itch. "Wouldn't want to upset your boyfriend, right?"

"He's not-"

"Let's not lie, Pat." Hector says, and the hand slips form his back. Hector is grinning. It reminds Patroclus of a Cheshire Cat, or perhaps a hyena as it steals a lion's meal. He turns Patroclus around, and plants his hands on his shoulders. He's a good few inches taller than him, and it forces him to look up at Hector. "Everyone knows what you are. Couple of fags in love, right?"

"Don't-" Patroclus begins, but it's an empty threat. Not even a threat at all, actually. There's nothing he could say that could stop Hector from doing anything.

"Don't what?" Hector seems to know that too. He's not grinning anymore. His eyes are hard. "Don't what, Pat?"

"Don't say that." He says. His voice is stronger than he feels.

Now Hector grins. "Or what?" He asks. "What are you going to do?"

His hands are still planted on Patroclus' shoulders, so all he can think to do is push. He braces his hands against his chest and forces him away, hard. He's just a tad stronger than he looks. Hector staggers back a few steps, and brushes the wall, his head making a soft thump. Patroclus sees newly found anger in his eyes.

And that's when the fist meets his face. Really, he should have seen it coming.

~*~

Achilles finishes his music lesson, and he knows that something is wrong. He can't place what, but he knows. There are whispers all along the corridors, eyes darting his way and then back again, and it's certainly not a good thing.

He has always been used to eyes on him, because he has always been somewhat above par. He's always been faster and stronger and a little taller than those his age, and he's always been fairly blessed with good looks. He cannot count the number of times Patroclus has told him just how beautiful he is, but he supposes that he is biased. So no, he's used to eyes on him, just not like this. Like there is something brewing, and he doesn't know what.

It is Briseis who catches him. She sets a hand on his arm, and he stiffens; he likes her. He always has. But she is more Patroclus' friend than his, and he'd be a liar if he said he wasn't jealous of her sometimes. She doesn't often touch him.

"It's Patroclus." She says, her voice strong and steady but urgent. "He's in the nurse's office. Hector-"

She doesn't get to finish, because Achilles is already gone.

He slips into the nurse's room by shooting a smile at the receptionist; he knows he shouldn't go in there, but he goes anyway. No one dares to stop him.

He stops in the doorway, green eyes blown wide. There is blood covering the front of Patroclus' shirt, across his chin, and around his eye this is already a ring of black. Achilles' fingers twitch. He's going to kill Hector.

"It looks worse than it is." Patroclus murmurs, but Achilles doesn't believe that.

Hesitantly, Patroclus takes the wad of tissue he has been holding up to his nose away, and Achilles' lips purse. His nose isn't broken, he doesn't think, but it's certainly bust. He can see now that his lip is split.

Achilles reaches over, and takes his hand. Patroclus gives it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry." Achilles murmurs, but Patroclus is shaking his head before he can even say the words.

"It's not your fault." He says, and Achilles nod. He believes that it is, but there is a waver to Patroclus' voice that tells him not to argue.

"Why didn't you fight back?" Achilles asks, head tilting as he looks at him.

Patroclus pauses. "Who's to say I didn't?"

"You wouldn't be so beaten up if you had." Achilles counters, and he watches as Patroclus' shoulders sag. He knows that Achilles is right.

"Because I'm no good at fighting." Patroclus murmurs. "It would have been pointless. He probably would have jut punched me hard."

Silence falls between them. Achilles runs his thumb over the back of Patroclus' hand, a small semi circle, over and over.

The door of the nurse's room opens, and the nurse blinks. "You shouldn't be in here." She says to Achilles, but she doesn't sound scolding. She raises her eyebrows; if her eye flick down to their joined hands, she doesn't say anything about it. "Go on. Back to class."

Achilles nods. He stands, slipping off the bed, and gives Patroclus' hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll be sending him home." The nurse informs him. "I'm sure you can see him tomorrow."

Achilles nods again. He looks back over to Patroclus, who has raised the wad of tissue back to his nose. He smiles. It's supposed to be reassuring. And as he had expected, Patroclus manages a small smile, and only then does Achilles leave.

He has something to do, anyway.

~*~

His fist connects with Hector's nose before Hector has even looked his way.

There's not a lot of time for talking or smart mouth comments when there is blood gushing from Hector's nose.

But that doesn't stop him, he swings for Achilles, aiming for his jaw, but he just doesn't feel it. He's hit him wrong or he's not put enough thought behind it or something, because it doesn't hurt. He swings again, aims for Hector's jaw, and he yowls in pain.

By the time they're done, there is a bruise blossoming on Achilles' jaw, and Hector looks far worse than even Patroclus. He is dragged away by the guidance counselor, Chiron, but he doesn't have to be dragged. He stands, pushes his hands from his arms. Chiron takes him to the principle's office; Achilles can't say that he minds.

~*~

That is, until they call his mother.

"You are never seeing him _ever_ again." She hisses, marching him out of school. He hasn't been excluded, he has just been sent home for the rest of the day. "I knew he was a bad influence. You're far better than him. You need to find friends who are like you, Achilles, who are up to your standard."

Across the parking lot, he sees Patroclus getting into a car he doesn't recognise. He doesn't see Achilles. His chest aches.

"I knew I should have separated you two, from the minute I lay eyes on him. He was never good enough for you, he was always beneath you, you are better than this, Achilles, you are better than-"

He drowns out the sound of his mother's ranting with the steady beating of his own heart, although it sounds a little hollower now. He knows he's not going to be able to do it; he won't be able to stay away from him. Patroclus is too good- he'll know that his mother told him he wasn't allowed to see him any more (or his mother may even ring the home he was living in, which was worse still) and he won't come near him. He'll watch from across the hall, and across the classroom. He does what is asked of him, always. He doesn't always. There are some things, a few exceptions. But this, he will not do.

It doesn't take Achilles long to see him again, though.

~*~

He pulls himself up through the window, and he grins. Patroclus isn't sleeping, he's reading, what looks to be a biology text book. Achilles rolls his eyes. He hasn't heard him come in.

So Achilles scoots up beside him brackets his hips with his thighs. He feels Patroclus tense, but he doesn't relax again. Achilles rests his chin on his shoulder, and presses his hands to his chest.

"I missed you." He says.

"It's been twelve hours." Patroclus murmurs. Achilles presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"I know." He answers. "And I missed you."

At that, Patroclus softens a little. But then he stiffens again, and he says, "You shouldn't be here."

"I should be wherever you are." Achilles argues, his voice soft, gentle. He can almost hear Patroclus mulling that over. He pauses. Maybe coming was a bad idea after all. "I can go, if you like?"

Patroclus gives a moment, and then he shakes his head. He softens. He puts his book down, kicks it away. "No." He murmurs. He tugs them both down, until Achilles lies just on top of him, curled against his side. "Don't go."

Even in the dark Achilles can see how bruised and battered Patroclus' face is, how mottled and red the skin is. He sighs softly. He would wipe ever single one away if he could.

But he doesn't get a chance to try. Patroclus pulls him down, towards him, and joins their lips together. It's soft and sweet, but there's a hunger behind it that makes both of them ache. Patroclus swipes his tongue along the seam of Achilles' lips, and he decides _yes_. This was definitely a good idea.


End file.
